Unknown Muse
by Aggression
Summary: A series of one-shots that pop in my head at the weirdest moments from the most random things. Second muse: Vimy Ridge
1. Encounter

**Author's Note-Hey guys! Just another one-shot series, for everything Hetalia that's not hockey related. XDDD I can't let this stuff accumulate in my mind~ I chose the title "Unknown Muse" because I never know what's gonna make me think up a one-shot, so before I start each one I'll tell you the muse (s).**

**Encounter**

**Muse: winter (and it's hitting us hard this week D:)**

The wind curled around him, stealing precious heat from his shivering body. The boy didn't know where he was. All that could be seen was a white expanse in each direction, shifted by the endless winds. He soon realized what had brought him here.

Russia looked up to his side, knowing that the man would be there. General Winter. His eyes were lifeless and cold, reflecting a sheet of ice that seemed to go on forever. His breath was Artic winds that tore through any coat, leaving the one inside chilled to the bone. This was the one man Russia feared.

He flinched as the General squatted down, coming to eye level with him. They stood there motionless for moments, an unwavering silence settling over them. The pre-teen couldn't take it anymore, his voice emotionless as he spoke. "Why have to you brought me here?"

What appeared to be a slight smiled appeared on the man's lips for a flash of a second. Russia quickly wrote it off as his imagination. "So you can meet someone like you."

"I already have. You have seen my sisters Ukraine and Belarus before da?" The Russian asks, trying not to show the confusion in his voice.

"Not them, but like them. Someone who could count as your sibling in a different way."

"That makes no sense. How can there be someone like that? I'd have already met them if they existed." He let the confusion show this time, the fear for the man taking away his usual mask of child-like ignorance.

"He is another country under my care, one that shares your pain and gift." To emphasize his point Winter blasted Russia with cold; a stinging feeling engulfing his skin.

The boy shivered violently. He noticed the way the snow danced in circles a couple meters ahead of him, a vortex of shifting white. Soon, he was able to make out a shadowy figure within the flurries. It slowly became more definite. Within it he made out the shape of a person slightly shorter than him, holding some sort of pole. Behind him was a lump of some sort, whatever it was was still unclear to the Northern nation.

Once the mini-tornado of snow dissipated a boy around his age stepped forth. At first all he saw was the spear clenched in the other's hand, its arrowhead gleaming dangerously in the weird lighting of the area.

Next he took note of the boy's outfit. Animal skins covered his body, the beautiful furs giving him a wild look. The only skin left visible was what was on his face, and even then it was currently shadowed by his hood. The fur trims that exploded it on various spots like the rim of the hood only added to the get up, giving it a simple majesty.

Russia subconsciously stepped forward; curiosity ruling his actions. He stopped mid-step at a growl. The lump behind the boy made itself known. The growling polar pair cub padded a couple feet forward, taking a defensive position in front of the unknown boy. Its lips pulled back in a vicious snarl; teeth gleaming.

Before Russia could react a voice snapped throughout the air, "Kumajirou!" The boy's face was now visible, a stern look being directed at the bear. The beast retreated, returning to its master's side. It slumped to the ground with a thump, its teeth still visible from its pink gums.

The boy was the one to step forward this time. He walked with an unearthly grace, the snow not hindering him one bit. He shifted the spear so the head was pointing at the ground then shoved it in through the snow, all the while not breaking his stride. Words spilled from his mouth, possibly an apology, but the Russian could not make anything of it. The language was completely foreign, nothing like the other Nations he'd met.

Russia was soon oblivious to the strange language being thrown at him; the boy's face catching his attention and holding it. His skin was tan, nothing like the pale white he was used to seeing from his own and surrounding countries. His lips were slightly chapped, but that was normal for someone who was close to General Winter; the biting cold wind would do that to you. Bits of raven-black hair fell in front his face, adding to his wild look.

"Who are you?" inquired Russia; he couldn't help but be slightly captivated by how foreign the boy looked. The other Nation (for surely that's what he must have been) looked confused and turned to General Winter, the weird language flowing from his mouth. Amazingly enough, the General responded, having no trouble pronouncing the words. But what was even more shocking was the boy's behavior towards the Spirit. His stance was calm and relaxed; he seemly not noticed the winds that had once again began to whip around the three. After a few moments the boy nodded at the General, who had spoken something in a curt tone. He turned and looked at Russia.

Now it was the tanned one's turn to inspect the other. He looked Ivan up and down, sizing him up. His face remained calm, giving no hints to his thoughts. Russia wished he had kept his composer like that. After a minute the boy smiled, rushing forward and taking the other in a bone-crushing hug.

Needless to say Ivan was shocked as an "oomph!" left his lips, the boy's intimate actions rendering him immobile for a second. _No one had the courage to hug him like this. Not even his sisters were so rash._ It was over as quickly as it came, the boy retreating with kind words, a smile gracing his face. The snow began to envelope both of them this time, the other waving to the pale boy as he slowly disappeared. The smile remaining on his face the whole time. The last thing the Russian noticed before the world became white were the other's eyes. _They're violet. Just like mine._

_

* * *

_

The alarm clocked blared as Russia opened his eyes. _That dream again, da? _He slowly got up, blinking as he mused over the dream. No, memory. That was the one day that would worm its way into Russia's mind at the weirdest moments. It was the one thing in this world that truly perplexed him. He'd still yet to figure out who the strange boy was. One who could stand by General Winter and not tremble, one who could come up to the Nation of Russia and hug him effortlessly was not someone to be ignored.

He sighed, pushing those thoughts to the back of his head and began his morning ritual, quickly working his way through it and arriving at the conference building. The Nations already inside were already riled-up, insults being thrown back and forth like balls. Surprisingly enough, America was remembering Canada while in the presence of other for once, the two talking quietly to themselves.

As Russia passed by the North Americian brothers, Canada's voice became above a whisper for once, his words actually carrying across the whole room. Everyone grew silent, the words confusing them as the unrecognized language reached their ears. England was the first to speak afterwards, though France looked like he was going to speak up at the same moment.

"Matthew, you still speak that language?" Russia was slightly surprised that England had appeared to have at least heard that tongue before. He could at least assume that France had too. It was weird to think that the Frenchman would be able to think of something other than the French language, woman, men, and umm… very private acts for once.

"Of course I still speak it. I still remember all my past languages, even those that are of now dead tribes." The Canadian seemed slightly insulted, as if he'd expect his father-figure to know that much about him.

A nagging feeling poked at Russia. Now that he'd thought about it the language sounded familiar to him too. "Comrade Matvey what is that language? It's not your normal one da?"

The blonde smiled, "No, not nowadays anyways. I spoke Inuktitut a lot back in my past though."

"Back when yours and mine hair was like the raven's feathers huh?" The American laughed.

"Yes." Canada chuckled, his mind slipping off to past memories.

Russia himself was doing the same, as pieces slowly fell into place and clicked together, taking him back to a day encased in snow...

**So my explanation of my head-canon here. In my head Mattie and Alfred represented the First Nations on their respective lands before they became colonies. Though they did have a mother, who represented North America as a whole. Also, in my head Mattie's also the **_**oldest,**_** just to let you know. X3 If you want more of an explanation about how I came to this PM me.**


	2. Struggle's End

**Struggle's End**

**Muse: Vimy Ridge**

The ground rushed to meet him, pain running through is back as he landed on its un-even surface. He didn't have a chance to move before a gun was shoved in his face, the barrel seemingly taunting him as cries of victory rung through the air. Part of the slight celebration he wouldn't be joining. It wouldn't last long anyways, this was war after all. There were other more important jobs to be taken care off, celebrating could wait for the end, if it even came then.

He looked at the man looming above him. He was covered in dirt and grim, though what jumped out the most was the blood. Whether it was of a friend or foe, no one would know, but it clashed with a face that usually looked so innocent. A look that was far gone now.

His golden blonde hair appeared a shade darker from the dirt within it, the same dirt was smeared all over his face, partially covering one of the lenses in his glasses. But it didn't hide the eyes behind them. No, those cold violet orbs glared down at him, a look he never imagined to be seemly stuck on the young country's face.

The man's breathing was hard, but who's wasn't. The four day struggle had come to an end, and Germany was amazed to be on the losing side of it.

"_Kanada..."_

"The victory is mine." The Northern Nation hadn't moved, standing there like a statue. Canada was about to continue, when another's voice cut him off.

_"Bruder!" _

The Kingdom of Prussia ran towards the pair, murder in his eyes as he reached for a gun. Germany was relieved, even if he'd never admit it. Something in the pit of his stomach was telling him this was a very dangerous situation. Though, what struck Germany as odd was the blank look on Canada's face, as if the approaching threat meant nothing. That little warning seemed to grow slightly.

He never realized until it was too late that that "warning" was him sensing the presence of another one of them.

Before Prussia knew it he had a gun in his face, matching his brother. Germany had been too slow when he'd notice the solider appear out of no where. Their quick feet had easily carried them in front of his advancing brother.

Prussia halted, gun hanging uselessly at his side.

"Drop it, _now._" The voice came out in a snarl, and both German brothers were surprised to find it as that of a woman's.

"Germany, Prussia, I believe you've already met my daughter Alberta before."

The Princess Province stood tall and domineering before them. Her long black hair had fallen out of its pony tail, becoming a wild tangle of greasy knots that fell to her lower back. Her face had a cut on her cheek. Her uniform was like that of her father's covered in dirt and grim and the blood of the enemy. Bangs hid her eyes as she clutched strongly to her gun, as if it was the only thing in the world she could trust.

Silence hung in the air as Germany listened to his troops being pushed back farther and farther.

"Now Germany, I'm in a fine mood today, so I think I'll be a little nice." The Canadian readjusted his grip on his weapon, pushing it down on the blonde German's forehead. Germany hissed as the movement aggravated some wound that he'd yet to discover, resenting the man before him as his head was pushed into the dirt.

"Hey, what the hell do you think you'r-" The Prussian was cut off as Alberta took a step forward, bringing her gun inches from the albino's face, right above his nose, between the eyes. He momentarily went cross-eyed as he glared at it.

Canada leaned in closer. "You know as much as I do that we Nations all would rather die out here on the battlefield then be captured. I truly am in a great mood today luckily for you." The Canadian grinned sardonically. "You'll get to die out here with your men. Of course, I may still be a little sore over other things, do you realize what it's like to be both blinded and the later killed by that toxic gas of yours? _As __mon père _pointed out, my eye colour hadn't been the same for weeks." Canada gritted his teeth as his body remembered the pain he felt when the gas had burned his eyes and lungs, the message about urinating on some sort of cloth hadn't made it to him in time.

He came out of the flashback, putting more pressure on Germany's forehead as he leaned into his gun. "I hope this is an experience you don't forget Germany." His eyes held a slightly wild look, as if he hadn't fully returned to himself from his momentary relapse into the past.

Germany couldn't name the emotion with the other Nation's eyes, and he didn't have time to think about it. In his future, Germany would wonder how bad of a case of PTSD Canada had gone through, relating that to the weird behaviour of the Canadian that day. He didn't think it accounted for all of it though; something told Germany Canada wasn't what he seemed.

"Alberta."

One word, all that was needed for one shot to ring through the air. Ludwig watched as his brother's body fell to the ground with a thump. Alberta lowered her gun, looking back over shoulder first at her father, then at Germany. Germany's attention was elsewhere though as he watched a trickle of scarlet liquid slithered down to Gilbert's eye socket. The colour of it and the albino's eyes matched in morbid beauty.

Seeing a family member's dead body was something you never got used to, even if you knew the next day they'd be fine.

Germany turned back to look at Canada, whom smiled sadly down at him before pulling the trigger, turning his world black.

* * *

Canada sighed as he looked at the two bodies before him. Alberta looked through her pockets, placing another pony tail in her hair.

"Take them to where the Germans have access to them. Get one of your brothers to help."

Alberta nodded before turning around and jogging away, searching for another one of the Provinces. After finding Ontario, the two of them grabbed the two German brothers, carrying them to the retreating German army like a parting gift as the Canadians took up their position on the ridge.

**Author's note- I'd started this awhile go (started this=got two paragraphs done xD), but today I was in the mood and put pretty much all of this together. Even had time to get my friend to look over if for me. For the muse, I'd been reading another Canada story about war, and that just kinda always sends my mind to the Battle of Vimy Ridge. It's really the first Battle I knew anything about; you can't live here and not know at least that it happen. It's like **_**In Flander's Fields**_**, everyone knows about it.**


End file.
